


That Deathless Death

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime feels no guilt for conjuring Cersei into the room during these encounters. He is certain Loras does the same, imagining the weight of his precious Renly behind him in Jaime’s place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Deathless Death

There is nothing in it. They are using one another. That is all. 

(At least that’s what Jaime tells himself each time he leaves the unused storeroom off the armory, sticky with sweat and his own seed).

It is so very easy…in the beginning.

From behind, Loras is almost like Cersei. He is still so young (scarcely eighteen) and with all of that smooth, soft skin it takes little effort for Jaime to pretend that there is a more golden cast to the knight’s curls. 

Jaime feels no guilt for conjuring Cersei into the room during these encounters. He is certain Loras does the same, imagining the weight of his precious Renly behind him in Jaime’s place.

The illusion is not perfect of course. As time passes, Jaime finds it more difficult to imagine Cersei beneath him. Instead his mind begins maddeningly cataloging the differences between his sister and the young knight.

At first, it is the scent. 

The familiar smell of the rose oil Cersei adds to her bathwater is missing. In its place is the sharp smell of horses and leather and sweat. More often than not, Loras comes to him straight from sparring, and Jaime is mortified when he realizes he doesn’t mind in the slightest. The lingering scent of the yard stirs him in a way that reminds him of those mad, heady moments that follow a battle, when your blood runs hot and all you can bear to do is fight or fuck. Jaime might never get the chance to feel that kind of madness again (not without a sword hand) and so as he churns his hips against Loras, he takes in greedy lungfuls of his scent.

Then it is the sight. 

Jaime is not sure when he starts fucking Loras with his eyes open, but once he starts, he cannot stop. His early justifications that boy could pass for Cersei from behind seem feeble the more he truly looks. Though Loras is slender, his body is still that of a warrior. He is broader in the shoulders than Cersei, but the taper of his waist and hips is more narrow. Jaime finds there is something strangely mesmerizing about the pull of the musculature in Loras’ back as he holds himself steady, his hips bucking forcefully into Jaime’s. And while Jaime wills himself to close his eyes, to picture Cersei wrapped about him, he cannot seem to look away.

Finally, it is the  _feel_  that is his undoing.

The day Jaime takes Loras while still seated in the chair of his solar, his good hand is at liberty to stray from Loras hip for the first time in all of their couplings. There is no use trying to fool himself that it is Cersei’s curves under his hand. Instead, Jaime contents himself with reaching around to trace the hard planes of Loras chest and stomach, running over the muscles formed from a lifetime spent in the training yard. Fingertips trail feather light over a nipple, and Loras gasps, but Jaime’s hand does not linger there. He lets it wander lower, circling Loras’ navel and the trail of coarse hair below it, before moving it lower still…

Since losing his sword hand, Jaime has had little luck in bringing himself off. At most, some nights he manages a few uncomfortable, ineffectual tugs before giving up and rolling over to sleep, half-hard and frustrated. Still, he reaches down and grasps Loras’s cock in hand. There is no picturing Cersei now (not with his hand on another man’s cock) but Jaime finds he’s done with pretending. With the first awkward stroke, Loras shudders against him, bucking into his hand. Jaime repeats the gesture this time earning a startled cry from Loras. Loras clenches around Jaime’s own cock like a vice, and the feel of it steals Jaime’s breath. 

It takes a few fumbling attempts, but soon he manages to keep the pulls of his hand in rhythm with the powerful thrusts Loras’s hips make against his lap. Jaime is surprised when after only a few minutes of this Loras’s cock twitches in his hand, his seed coating Jaime’s fingers. Loras groans something as he comes, Renly’s name, Jaime supposes. But then Loras says it again. This time it is more of a sigh than a sound, but the name is unmistakable.

“Jaime!”

With that, Jaime’s peak comes fast and hard, and he nearly shouts from the force of it. 

He buries his face on Loras’s hair, breathing deeply and willing his heart to stop hammering against his ribcage. The younger knight is still recovering from his own release, slouched heavily against Jaime. Were it not for Jaime’s bad arm braced around Loras middle, he thinks the boy might sink to the floor boneless and spent.

It has never been like this. They have never come apart at the same time. 

And neither of them was pretending…

_Fuck._


End file.
